


Betting Man

by rokkasen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Humor, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 06:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokkasen/pseuds/rokkasen
Summary: The Divine election is a week away and Varric + Crew take Cassandra on one last hurrah. Chaos ensues.





	Betting Man

_If I was a betting man  
I’d throw everything I had on you_

\---

The election for Divine was days away and Cassandra was adrift. 

She had always lived her life with singular purpose: revenge, when she was young and foolish, then justice, when she was older and only slightly less so. Tunnel vision, her trainers and fellow Seekers had said with equal parts annoyance and fondness, stubborn, willful, and brash.

_When Cassandra has a mission, she would mow down Andraste herself if she got in the way,_ Daniel had joked, earning himself a slap to the back of the head and a secret smile. 

A linear path was the best path, Cassandra thought. Linear was simple and clean, black and white, with very little room for gray areas. Join the Seekers. Protect the Divine. Find the Champion of Kirkwall. Find who killed the Divine. Protect the Inquisitor. Avenge her fallen Seeker comrades. Defeat evil. Rebuild the Seekers. 

But to become Divine… 

_If the Maker wills it,_ Cassandra said over and over when asked if she even wanted to become Divine. _If it is the Maker’s wish, who am I to refuse?_

_But what does Cassandra will?_ The Inquisitor asked gently, putting her hand on her friend’s arm, a worried expression on her pretty, freckled face. _What does Cassandra wish?_

Cassandra didn’t know.

And it frightened her to the core.

“Well, Seeker?” a familiar, amused voice knocked her out of her circular thoughts. Cassandra shook her head slightly, as if clearing her head. “Ready?”

Cassandra looked up at The Siren’s Call 2, a rather impressive, though slightly dilapidated ship. The Captain -- _Admiral_ , Isabela reminded her earlier with a wink -- was on board and talking with her crew. “As ready as I will ever be.”

She wondered, not for the first time, how she got talked into this.

Oh, right. Varric Tethras, schemer and conniver extraordinaire, convinced her that if she only had a week of freedom left that she needed to make the most of it. There were Templars in cahoots with slavers that needed taking care of and, “Seeker,” Varric had implored, “isn’t it your job -- no, your _duty_ \-- to put a stop to this injustice?”

He was good, Cassandra had to give him that. Varric’s words were a weapon sharper and more powerful than any sword. But it was really the Inquisitor’s request that she join Varric and his ragtag crew in this mission that clinched it for her. Ellana had handed her a few potions, a bundle of elfroot, and practically shoved her out of the gates of Skyhold, demanding that the Seeker leave because they were running dangerously low on practice dummies.

“Write to me while you’re gone,” Ellana said as they parted. “And try not to kill anyone. Especially Varric.”

Cassandra smirked and hugged her friend goodbye. “I make no promises.”

It didn’t take much to convince The Chargers to join them on this expedition, along with some of Varric’s more… interesting Kirkwall associates. They were all practically salivating to jump on a ship, murder some bad guys, and engage in some pre-Divine debauchery. 

Currently, Isabela and Iron Bull were embroiled in a very heated debate over the proper use of padded shackles, while Dalish and a dark skinned elf engaged in a vaguely threatening staring contest. “Why do I always listen to the dwarf?” she wondered aloud. 

“Because I’m extremely handsome and compelling,” Varric replied. “And because your life would be incredibly boring without me.”

“Really?” Cassandra asked wryly. “Then whatever shall I do when you’re busy fixing up Kirkwall?”

Varric hefted his crossbow over his shoulder, dragging a bag with his free hand. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find some excuse to drag me halfway across the world with you. You’d miss me too much.”

Bull, having abandoned his argument with Isabela and taken to moving supplies onto the ship, groaned loudly behind Varric. “Fuck already and get it over with, will you?” Bull asked. “I’m not gonna be able to take a week of this.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows nearly shot off her head and Varric faltered, Bianca teetering dangerously close to the side of the ship. 

“Just,” he continued and made an obscene popping noise, “get it done before it’s too late. Pretty sure the Divine can’t go around _playing hide the sausage_ with dwarves.”

Varric recovered smoothly -- more smoothly than Cassandra who was opening and closing her mouth like a fish, unable to force words out. “Less talking and more using those muscles for the greater good, big guy. If I know Isabela, she’s got a least four trunks worth of clothes that need hauling onto the ship.”

“For a woman who wears no pants,” Bull said, good eye gleaming a little, “that’s a shit ton of clothes.”

“Tell me about it.”

Varric led Bull away and Cassandra exhaled slowly, heart race returning to normal.

She wouldn’t have to worry about becoming the Divine because she would surely be dead before this trip was over.

\---

A few hours into the trip, the elf who had been glaring at Dalish, the one with the silver -- no, Cassandra corrected, lyrium -- tattoos stalked over to her with silent, liquid steps. It only took a millisecond to recognize him as Fenris, Hawke’s close companion.

Strange, she thought. From Varric’s story, she always imagined him taller.

Cassandra could practically feel the powerful lyrium hum beneath his skin and it was distracting; she forced herself to concentrate and not stare. “Seeker,” he said mildly in greeting.

“Hello,” she replied.

“A Seeker.” There was a pleasant lilt to Fenris’ deep voice beneath the seemingly bored surface. “Does that mean you distrust templars and mages?”

“I distrust _everyone_ ,” Cassandra corrected and she could hear Varric’s distinct snorting laugh in the distance.

Fenris held out his hand. “We’re going to get along just fine.”

\---

Night came, as it always did, and with night came drunken night time games that Cassandra was forced to participate in. 

“Never have I ever…” Krem looked thoughtful as he tipped his mug of beer. “Never have I ever used magic in bed.”

There was a cacophony of groans as many of the people around the table took a drink. Of all the people at the table, only three did not drink from their glasses: Krem, Fenris, and Varric. All eyes were on Cassandra as she stared down into her glass of West Hill Brandy.

She considered her options: 1) Lie and protect the memory of Galyan, as well as her dignity, or 2) Just take the damn shot and let the chips fall. 

Cassandra was not a very good liar and, if called out on it, would fold like a house of cards. 

With a grimace, she took a sip of her brandy.

Chaos erupted: her drunk teammates hooted and hollered, Bull and Isabela desperately trying to get details; Krem blushed all the way down to his neck and the other chargers ribbed him mercilessly. Varric said nothing, only gave her an appraising look, his smile wide and toothy.

“Don’t start,” she said to him. “And if you even think of repeating this…”

“Hey, this is a safe place,” Varric promised. “Besides, I don’t think anyone would believe me.”

“The rules of the game state that no details need to be given,” Stitches said and gave Cassandra a wink. “So knock it off and move on to the next.”

“Killjoy,” Bull grumbled. “Alright. Never have I ever fought a dragon --”

Cassandra rose out of her chair a bit, indignant and a little tipsy. “Lies, you’ve fought --”

Bull held up his hand. “You didn’t let me finish. Never have I ever fought a dragon… naked.”

There was a long pause as the people around the table looked at each other, wondering who the hell in their ranks could have accomplished this.

Cassandra lifted up her glass.

Cassandra put the glass to her lips.

Cassandra finished off her whiskey in one gulp.

Chaos ensued once more.

“I’m calling bullshit!” Isabela exclaimed. “She’s tough, but to fight a dragon without armor?”

“It’s true, I was there.” Bull sighed wistfully. “Brings a tear to my eye just to think about it.”

Varric turned to Cassandra, looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Seriously?”

Cassandra only shrugged. 

Bull set down his glass, folding one leg over the other. “Gather ‘round children for story time.”

“ _You’re_ telling the story?” Varric asked incredulously.

“Hey, you don’t have a monopoly over storytelling, Tethras,” Bull said “Besides, you weren’t there and Cassandra is a shit story teller, so I’m all you’ve got.”

“Point.”

Bull glanced at Cassandra, as if asking for permission. She nodded, since the cat was out of the bag, anyway, and she couldn’t really understand why the story was getting such a reaction. They were all warriors, to some degree, and fighting a dragon was impressive, true, but…

“Let me set the scene. So there we were in the Hinterlands -- me, the Boss, Cassandra, and Solas, camped for the night. This fucking Fereland Frostback swoops in in the dead of the night, catching us all off guard. We leap out of our tents, which is all fine and good except some of us didn’t have time to get dressed.”

Cassandra folded her arms over her chest. “Protecting the Inquisitor took precedence.”

“Anyway… the fight was glorious. We all got our hits in, sure, but there Cassandra was, like some sort of painting, sword and shield in hand, naked and covered in dragon’s blood, standing over the dead carcass…” Bull trailed off. “Sorry, is anyone else turned on right now?”

“Me,” Isabela chimed in.

Krem shoved his elbow into Bull’s side. “Don’t make it weird, Boss.”

“Too late,” Varric said.

“Ugh,” Cassandra grunted in disgust and poured herself another drink, knocked it back, and followed it with another.

And maybe one more couldn’t hurt.

\---

When Cassandra awoke, two things dawned on her:

One, she was not in her room.

Two, she was not alone.

Maker, she would never drink again.

With a silent prayer to whatever deity was listening that she did not indulge in some sort of weird, drunken one night stand with either Bull or Isabela, Cassandra rolled over to face the music.

“Seeker,” Varric greeted, once they were nose to nose.

“...”

Before Cassandra reacted, she wanted to look at the facts. She was not in her room, not in her bed, and she woke up next to someone -- Varric -- after a night of heavy drinking.

This was bad.

However, she was clothed, he was clothed, and there were no signs of any debauchery of any kind. Cassandra vaguely recalled him trying to help her to her room the night before, but they hadn’t made it far because Cassandra had essentially become dead weight. There was some drunken fumbling, an arm around her waist, tumbling into bed, but nothing else. And if Cassandra was going to wake up next to anyone on this boat, Varric was the safest choice.

This was good.

Her head pounded and the rocking of the boat was doing nothing for her upset stomach. Cassandra closed her eyes and willed away the nausea. “Please forget everything about last night.”

“Why?” Varric asked. “You were actually semi-human for once. That’s a compliment, by the way.”

“Ngh.”

“By the way, did you know that you like to cuddle in your sleep?”

“Ugh,” Cassandra said into the pillow, and Varric chuckled, “please forget you know that about me.”

“I’ll take it to the grave.”

“Thank you.”

“Gonna get up anytime soon?”

“Yes.”

She made no move to get off of the bed, despite the knowledge that this was highly indecent and that everyone would think something scandalous happened if they saw her do a walk of shame out of Varric’s room in the middle of the night. But it was warm and comfortable and Cassandra couldn’t take the humiliation of puking in front of Varric if she got to her feet.

The bed moved slightly as Varric shifted, then silence. Apparently, he wasn’t going to protest her staying a little while longer. This was good.

She fought a losing battle against sleep, breaths slowing as she faded in and out of consciousness. Her headache faded as sleep tried to claim her. All she could feel was rough linen under her cheek; all she could smell was the distinct cleanness of Varric’s soap. This was good.

Cassandra felt a brush against her bangs and then a warm, calloused hand pressed against her forehead comfortingly. It felt nice. This was unexpected, but also good.

When she didn’t move, fingers trailed from her forehead to her cheek, lightly chasing the deep scar. A shiver ran up her side. Cassandra pretended to keep sleeping, unable to bring herself to ask him why or to let herself dwell on the unfortunate timing of this revelation because in a few days time she could perched on the Sunburst Throne.

This?

This was bad.

Very, very bad.

\----

Three days in and the ridiculosity showed no signs of stopping. Cassandra prayed that they would run into some slavers soon so she could take her aggression out on something solid.

In a rare moment of quiet, she indulged in a nice, hot cup of Orlesian coffee at the table while Varric scribbled away on some parchment. The two sat in companionable silence as Varric worked. The sounds of his writing was soothing; a direct contrast to the appearance of Isabela, who had a very suspicious smile on her face. Dalish trailed behind her.

Cassandra’s proverbial hackles rose.

“What do you need?” she asked, voice thin.

“A harem of beautiful men wearing nothing but silk loin cloths scrubbing my ship from to bottom,” Isabela said. “But this isn’t about what I need. It’s about what you need.”

Varric immediately put his quill down, more interested in this interaction than whatever letter he was writing.

“You’ve got to get at least one tattoo if this is your last hurrah,” Isabela insisted.

Cassandra glared at her and Dalish, who was edging closer to her chair with what looked like a metal chisel and a bottle of ink. “No.”

“Rivaini,” Varric started, voice edging on a warning. 

Isabela planted her hands on her hips. “Varric, need I remind you that you were the one that told us we had to make this a memorable week.”

Had this all truly been his idea? Cassandra thought the Inquisitor insisted on this little expedition and Varric had just come along for the ride. She was a little touched.

“I said make it memorable, not scar her for life,” Varric corrected.

Isabela sidled up to Cassandra. Dalish moved to her other side. “Now, kitten. What do you want your tattoo to say?”

“If you come one inch closer with that needle, I will set the lyrium in your blood on fire,” Cassandra told Dalish, who, despite all protests, was most certainly a mage. The elf shuddered in response, immediately sticking the metal tool into her pocket. 

Isabela waved her hand. “No, that’s much too long. What about a nice anchor or heart?”

“Lay off, Isabela,” Varric said. 

“There’s just no pleasing some people,” Isabela decided. “Come, Dalish. I bet we could talk your boss into a lewd tattoo or two.”

Cassandra and Varric watched the two leave, sharing a bemused look. “So,” Varric said, “if you were going to get a tattoo, where would you put it?”

If Cassandra didn’t know any better, she would think Varric was flirting with her.

“What makes you think I don’t already have one?”

And if Cassandra didn’t know any better, she might think she was flirting back.

The mystery surrounding her supposed tattoo obviously piqued Varric’s interest. His eyes roved her body, as if trying to find out where it may or may not be hiding. “Oh? Have a benediction tattooed somewhere on your person? A portrait of Andraste? An ex’s name?”

Cassandra only serenely sipped her coffee. “You are not the only one with secrets, Varric.”

\---

Four days in, still at sea. No land or slavers in sight. No reprieve from the oppressive sexual tension between her and a certain dwarf or thoughts of her future.

Cassandra was losing her mind.

She sat as far as away from Varric as humanly possible during a game of Wicked Grace. Cassandra was not good at hiding her thoughts or feelings or expressions and there was absolutely no way she was giving everyone on board a reason to rib her. Surely, Varric would understand.

The confused, then annoyed, look that he gave her when she bypassed the empty seat next to him in order to squish between Fenris and Bull told that no, he did not, in fact, understand.

“So, ladies, gentlemen, folks -- what are we playing for?” Isabela shuffled the cards expertly.

“Nothing, because you cheat,” Fenris said.

“Anyway,” Isabela said cheerfully, ignoring Fenris, “strip Wicked Grace?”

“No,” Cassandra and Fenris said in unison.

“You’re all no fun.”

Cassandra looked down at her cards, wondering why she continued to play this game even though she never improved. She squinted. “Are serpents better than songs?” she asked Fenris.

“Seeker, just put all your money on the table now and save yourself the embarrassment,” Varric said, throwing down some coins.

She bristled. That was uncalled for. “There is no embarrassment in not being able to play a silly game.”

“It’s only silly to you because you’re bad at it.”

Cassandra’s fist hit the table with so much force that the wood cracked under the pressure. She hated that he was able to elicit such a reaction in her. She hated that she was reacting exactly the way that he wanted. Getting under her skin and then accusing her of being violent and irrational was practically a national pastime for Varric.

A small, logical voice in the back of her mind told her that she was just tired and stressed and would-be Divines did not react like this.

Another louder voice told that one to _fuck right off_.

Cassandra composed herself, set her cards down on the table, and stood up slowly. “I will be retiring for the night.”

She stalked off to her room not waiting for a reply from her companions. 

She was going to kill the Inquisitor for making her board this ship and if that disqualified her from being the Divine, so be it.

“Seeker, wait --” Varric was gaining ground behind her and Cassandra continued to ignore him. “I said wait, damn it, you have an unfair advantage with those stupidly long legs -- _Cassandra_ \--”

Cassandra stopped short and whirled to face him, adrenaline and fire burning through her veins. She knew that he wasn’t the one she was mad at, not really. He was just a convenient target. “ _What_?”

“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

Grabbing the front of his ridiculous unbuttoned tunic, she shoved him right against the creaky wall. The ship swayed and she almost lost her footing but Cassandra’s grip was firm. He looked terrified, as if to ask _What the hell, Seeker_?

She kissed him, right there on Isabela’s ship, with their friends only a few feet away. 

Varric froze for a split second, clearly trying to piece together the situation, but then he was responding, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. 

They pulled away for air, both of them breathing harshly.

“‘One last hurrah’, right?” Cassandra asked, sliding her hands from his collar to the hem. Her fingers brushed the tiny space between the shirt and his trousers. He trembled and that made her feel more powerful than any Divine. “You said you wanted to make this trip memorable for me. Are you up to it, Varric?”

Varric grabbed her hand and all but dragged her down the hall towards his room. “Challenge accepted.”

\---

“After all the filthy things you did to a dwarf, they’re never gonna let you become Divine,” Varric panted some time later, voice smug, hair in absolute disarray. Red nail marks striped down his arms and chest. “If they only knew where your mouth has been --”

“Shut up, Varric,” was her only reply, plenty smug herself, “and ready yourself for round two.”

\---

Cassandra woke to muffled voices from outside of the bedroom.

“Hey, Varric,” Bull greeted. “Never have I ever boned a candidate for the Divine. Take a long drink, you fucking dog.”

“Jealous?”

“Shit yeah, I am.”

\---

Day five: they finally hit land.

Except there were no slavers waiting for them.

Correction: There used to be slavers waiting for them, but Hawke had gotten to them first.

“Cheers,” he said brightly. “Sorry I couldn’t travel with you, but Fenris told me where you’d be and I figured I could just meet you here. Since the work is done, should we go get a drink? Play a round of Wicked Grace?”

Cassandra groaned and walked right back onto the ship.

“Was it something I said?” Hawke wondered.

Maker take her.

\---

It was day seven and everyone was at the election for the Divine, waiting with baited breath. Cassandra was close to a panic attack.

What would she do if they didn’t choose her?

What would she do if they did choose her?

She could do a lot of good as Divine.

But couldn’t she do more good if she reformed the Seekers?

And what about this thing with Varric?

Was there even a thing with Varric?

The internal battle came to screeching halt when they announced that Leliana would, in fact, be the new Divine Victoria.

Cassandra felt all of strength leave her body. She swayed on her feet, her vision going a little white. Leliana. Was. The. New. Divine.

Did that mean... she went on that trip, her “last hurrah”, for nothing?

Cullen put a hand on her shoulder, mistaking her reaction for one of disappointment. “You had my vote, Cassandra,” he said kindly.

Cassandra steadied herself. “It’s the Maker’s will,” she said with conviction and this time, she truly believed it.

\---

As all of their companions parted ways, Varric stopped by before embarking on the ship back to Kirkwall.

“Off on some super secret Seeker mission?” he asked. “Good luck.”

Cassandra smiled. At least one good thing had come out of this -- she and Varric could actually have a full conversation without it disintegrating into a stupid argument.“Thank you, Varric. And I wish you well with the reconstruction.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “Don’t just disappear off the face of the planet, alright? If I get a letter or two, I might even feel compelled to write the next issue of _Swords and Shields_.”

“Bribery? Coercion? The nerve of you, dwarf.”

Varric shrugged. “Comes with the territory.”

Cassandra placed a gloved hand on his cheek, both of them sharing a fond look. “I am sure our paths will cross again soon. After all, it won’t be long until you do something illegal that I will be forced to look into.”

“Fine, but this time? We do the interrogation naked.”

She leaned in to kiss him goodbye. “Fine -- but no more trips with Isabela.”

“Deal. By the way, Seeker...”

“Yes?”

“Loved the tattoo. Really a work of art. I can’t wait to write about it in my next book...”

\---


End file.
